I sleep with the curtains drawn,
not to block the sun,
but to remind myself it’s gone.

The walls whisper names I forget
until I’m quiet,
then they scream them instead.

I leave the door open
in case hope walks in,
but all I get is silence.
Heavy. Familiar. Cold.

Some say darkness is just
the absence of light.
I think it’s where the truth hides
when it’s too ashamed to speak.